


Spit It Out

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: FTM, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Other, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender, ftm character, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, where to now, bro?” Jake asks, returning his guns to their holsters. Skeletons lie all around the two of you, now reduced to no more than broken, inert heaps of bones.</p><p>You wordlessly grab Jake, a hand in his hair and another on his shoulder, and press him up against the wall of the cave, forcing a leg between his thighs and nipping at his lip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spit It Out

“So, where to now, bro?” Jake asks, returning his guns to their holsters. Skeletons lie all around the two of you, now reduced to no more than broken, inert heaps of bones.

You wordlessly grab Jake, a hand in his hair and another on his shoulder, and press him up against the wall of the cave, forcing a leg between his thighs and nipping at his lip. Clearly startled, Jake struggles for a moment, but it only produces friction of his crotch against your leg and heightens your already not-inconsiderable desire. Pain, followed by the warm after-burn of endorphins floods your system as Jake digs his nails into your bare shoulders, right from the line of your muscle shirt down your arms in slow lines.

You moan into the kiss and tighten your grip on Jake's hair.

“Blimey, Dirk, you could've just said this what what you wanted when I asked!” Jake gasps, pulling his mouth away. His face is gorgeously flushed and he's already hard against your leg

“I believe in show, don't tell.” You lunge back in to press your mouth against Jake's neck, swirling your tongue and using your teeth just enough to make him hum.

Everything below your belt aches with need as you tug off Jake's bow tie and trace his neck with strokes of your tongue. It's sloppy, but you discovered during your first few make-out sessions that sloppy is just how your boyfriend likes it. Your hands linger on Jake's shoulders as his rest on your waist. They grip more tightly when you pepper kisses on Jake's neck interspersed with playful bites, but they don't stray further.

“I'd like to be a gentleman about this, but I'm not precisely sure how to best approach the topic,” Jake says awkwardly.

“Spit it out, dude,” you say, even as you feel your pulse quicken with the messy but inevitable tangle of desire and fear. Those emotions probably haunt everyone at first, but you probably have more justification for the latter than most.

You know what he's getting at, and you want it, but you have your own hesitation. You told him over a year ago about your unfortunate anatomical discordance, but it had never been directly relevant. Not until now.

“I'd like to put my hands up your shirt,” Jake says, nerves naked in his tone. “If that was alright with you, I mean-”

“Do it,” you whisper against his neck, in what you want to say is a carefully measured decision but is really a haphazard impulse to just get on with this already. But it's not loud enough apparently, and Jake has to ask again.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah,” you say more loudly, pulling your mouth further away. “Do it.”

Your stomach jumps as Jake's hands immediately slip under the waistband of your pants, pulling out your previously tucked-in shirts. If he's surprised by the two layers, he says nothing, but slides his hands under, starting on your tight abdomen. The etchings of a not-quite-complete six-pack are traced by his fingers, hot and slightly sweaty.

You thrust your leg against Jake's crotch a little bit more, feeling rather pleased with yourself as you feel how hard you're making him, as you feel the the way he bucks his hips slightly like he can't help himself. You tilt your head up when he shifts his neck, and your mouths collide again, kissing with need, and to bury the hesitation you have no doubt is mutual.

Jake's hands go higher, feeling the lines of your ribs under skin and a thin layer of muscle. They slowly inch up as he presses his tongue into your mouth, his fingertips reaching up and then tracing the thin scar lines they find. You wonder what he thinks, if they feel like he expected, if he notices the roughness of them juxtaposed with the smoothness of the rest of your skin, if they disgust him or arouse him. But you don't ask him, you know better than to break this moment, and so you hungrily accept Jake's tongue, heart pounding so hard you're sure Jake can feel it.

When his hands pass the scars to touch your chest, your body practically sings with desire. His hands wander over the flat plane – flat, just how it should be. Programming Sawtooth to perform that surgery, as risky as it was, was the best decision you ever made.

Jake's touching you like he should, like he appreciates the flatness, with understandable hesitation but the enthusiasm he kisses you with never wavers.

When he finally gets around to your nipples, you don't miss the way his kisses pause with surprise. To his credit, Jake doesn't pause for longer than a moment, rubbing his thumb along the tips and toying with the little metal balls on both sides of each. When he gently takes one of the piercings in his fingers and turns it through his fingers, a wave of pleasure flows through you.

“You can be rougher with them,” you say. “They're not as sensitive as they were before I got my chest fixed, but the piercings help and it feels good.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“I already told you that I'm a masochist and you had no qualms experimenting with that by clawing me with all the enthusiasm of a kitten on catnip,” you reply. “Just because it's something on my pecs doesn't mean you have to treat me like some delicate flower.”

Even as you say it, you feel a brief pang of sickness, of the worry that has haunted you all along. Maybe Jake is making an exception to his otherwise primarily female-oriented interests because he sees you as the gender you would've been assigned at birth, had you lived in society, rather than the one you have always known you are.

“That's better,” you say as Jake pinches, but before you can verbally encourage his further, he's desperately eating your words, his lips overwhelming yours.

You want more. You place a hand on his hip and slide in towards his crotch. When he makes an encouraging sound and clamps down on your nipples again, you pull your leg back a bit so you can move your hand to cup him through his shorts. As best you can, despite the awkwardness of the kissing and the position and the way he keeps trying to shift closer to you, to press your bodies together, you stroke his length through the fabric.

Your hand is toying with his button when you hear a clacking behind you. Jake's eyes are still closed, and he moans unhappily when you pull your mouth away to glance over your shoulder.

Shit. Those are more skeletons, and, slow as they may be, they're definitely advancing.

“Sorry, dude, we're going to have to put the game on hold and pick up again after this has been dealt with,” you say, drawing your sword.

Jake opens his eyes and releases you. As he stands up straight, you see the flash of excitement in his eyes you love so much. Your nipples still tingle with the fading warmth of lovingly applied pain. Jake sighs regretfully and reaches down for his holsters as you turn around, readying yourself, as the first enemy comes within slashing distance. You really need to go back to his place after this, but for now, there are other priorities.


End file.
